barren

 

Though it is Spring, the branches of my heart are barren, wanting for the tender meat of the fruit to sink my teeth into, the succulent juices of “I love you” dripping from my lips, the shine of the tender meat that would appease my hunger mirrored in my eyes and smile as I look into hers…

but who would want this man?

Bruised, tainted, scarred, both outside and in, yet still and forever an incurable romantic, who eternally dreams of what could be.

 

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